


ghosts of a home

by madnessiseverything



Series: cr daily drabbles [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Comfort, Drabble, Memories, Nostalgia, Reminiscing, because its caleb and also its me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 20:11:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18453791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madnessiseverything/pseuds/madnessiseverything
Summary: “You know… we were going to move into a place like this together.”It had been quiet before the statement. There had been a companionable silence, only broken by pages being turned and the occasional clinking of metal buttons on the coffee table, the steady sound of rain accompanying their shared comfort.or the one where Caleb talks about past wishes and Nott listens.





	ghosts of a home

**Author's Note:**

> so this is day three of my daily writing! i didn't post yesterday because my drabble turned into something much longer that i will post tomorrow, along with another drabble. but hey! hope you enjoy this small talk, accompanied by lots of comfy visuals. i tried something different with the style of telling so i'd love to know how you guys like it! <3

“You know… we were going to move into a place like this together.”

 

It had been quiet before the statement. There had been a companionable silence, only broken by pages being turned and the occasional clinking of metal buttons on the coffee table, the steady sound of rain accompanying their shared comfort. Now there is an anticipation in the air, a pause full of unasked questions, a glance up to be met with the faraway look of memories. Glassy eyes seem to follow invisible movements, moving side to side.

  
  
“Who?”

 

The question is soft, as if unwilling to really break the comfortable atmosphere. The couch creaks as a body shifts ever so slowly. Outside, a car rushes by and the rain continues tapping out a rhythm against the skylight. The shadow of raindrops projected onto hardwood floor seem almost like tiny footprints, moving over the wood in a constant beat.

  
  
“The three of us.”

  
  
A soft intake of breath shows sudden understanding, audible swallowing portrays the heaviness trailing along with the statement. The dance of the raindrops continues on undisturbed. Trembling fingers run through hair, dragging out the next words.

  
  
“We had always talked about ditching home and… and escaping into a place that belonged just to us.”

  
  
There is the sound of barely held back tears in the voice now, that tone where you can just see the pain reflecting in a person’s eyes, can feel your own heart sinking. A bone-deep sorrow fills the open room, invisible yet crushing.

  
  
“Our own home.”

  
  
Shimmering eyes move from the floors over the coffee table up to the ceiling, stuttering along the way as if caught by something before moving on. A huff of breath shakes with grief.

  
  
“That sounds wonderful.”

  
  
The affirmation pulls a soft whimper, but brings the feeling of warmth back into the room. The rain picks up ever so slightly, rhythm now matched by long fingers tapping against the hardcover of a book. A deep inhale, shaky exhale.

  
  
“Yeah. Eodwulf was set on having plants, Astrid wanted enough room to dance and train without moving furniture around.”

  
  
Eyes focus on the open space in front of them, a soft smile tugging at pairs of lips at the sight of green leaves stretching over clay rims onto the floor. The couch shifts, a body now standing and moving into the openness. Careful legs fold, cross. Weight settles onto the wood floors like it was meant to rest there. It grows silent again, still comfortable, still warm. Blue eyes trail over the hallway leading to the apartment door.

  
  
“I can almost- I can see them. Spinning around through the hallway into the kitchen. They would have loved it here.”

  
  
A second weight settles onto the wood. Careful hands reach out to smooth creases in a shirt. Hesitant smiles are exchanged, understanding eyes seeking those filled with a heavy past. Fingers move down to twisting, coarse hands.

  
  
“Is that why you refused to see any other places?”

  
  
“... yeah.”

 

The sound of small claws wanders over the floor panels before a third body joins the huddle on the floor. Warmth is now dancing through the room, around them, like people long lost. Ghosts rush through blue irises, scenes of many a shared dance, embrace, kiss. Two pairs of hands settle on weary shoulders, if only in memory and not in present. They settle with love, reassurance, warmth, traces of laughter.

  
  
“Do you miss them a lot?”

  
  
It’s quiet, save for the rain and the purr of the third companion. The room around them is warm, comfortable. It’s home. It’s open, there are plants, the wooden floors bring a rustic feeling of homes amidst fields of flowers. The taste of self-made candies and berry flavoured kisses fills a nostalgic mouth as eyes pull away from the wall and down onto joined hands, a small pair enclosing pale, freckled, shaking, invisibly stained hands.

  
  
“Every single day.”

 

Around them, home breathes. If the image of two dancers lingers on, it is not mentioned again.

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to come yell with me about critical role and all the feels over on my [cr twitter](https://twitter.com/nottanycritter) and [cr tumblr](https://nottanothercritter.tumblr.com/). <3


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